Sword Dancers
by Isolde1
Summary: Ten years after Naraku's defeat, Sesshoumaru and Rin, swordmates, are wandering through Japan. A new threat, however, looms over the Sengoku Era which of course the Inugang feel compelled to fight. Sesshoumaru doesn't care, until a fateful battle...
1. Prologue

**Sword-Dancers**

**Author:** Carcinya (Isolde on **Author E-mail:**  
**Category:** Action/Adventure - Romance  
**Keywords:** Rin Sesshoumaru Inuyasha sword-dance  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Spoilers:** Up to episode 122 (Anime)  
**Summary:** Ten years after Naraku's defeat, Sesshoumaru and Rin are wandering through Japan. Now sword-mates, they struggle to sort out their feelings for each other. A new threat, however, looms over the Sengoku Era - which of course Inu Yasha and his friends feel compelled to track and fight. All this doesn't really concern much the duo, until a fateful battle... Caught in the cross fire, Sesshoumaru receives accidentally the curse intended for his brother - and is changed in human.  
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Rumiko Takahashi, various publishers including but not limited to Anime-Kraze, Sunrise and Shonen Sunday. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The whole sword-dancers concept is Jennifer Roberson's (May her quill never cease writing. Amen), though I modified it to suit my tastes - and the story's. The plot and everything you don't recognize are mine.

**Author's notes:** Oh, goodies. My first Inu Yasha fanfic. What a way to go! Did I mention I was French? I apologize in advance for any spelling, syntax or grammar errors you might find in this story. Especially since I haven't written in a while. (My other fic's readers will probably confirm it grimly, then stone for not updating my story for over seven months. Or is it eight? Oh god. I created a monster.)

For those who still wouldn't have noticed, this fic will deal with a Sesshoumaru/Rin pairing. If you don't like it, or are offended by it (Eh. You never know nowadays...) feel free to use the back button of your browser. Really. I mean it.

The story takes place about **twelve years after Takahashi-sensei's timeline**. I decided, rather arbitrarily, that Rin was eight in the manga; Rin is thus twenty in all chapters, except in the prologue - since it is a flash back. The POV switches to Rin in Chapter 2 and on.

Blades are designated _on purpose_ as sentient beings with a gender. Don't run off screaming at me.

A glossary of the Japanese terms used will be provided at the end of each chapter, thanks to Calger's extraordinary website. (http/ www. flame. org / calger/ animedict.html)

Read and review, please!

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**Prologue: The child and the youkai**

Ten-year-old Rin stared at the silver katana in absolute wonder. Though it had been at first icy to the touch, the black hilt now felt warm and welcoming in her hand. The pale blue gleam of the carefully etched runes stretched along the length of the blade. Waves of fiery affection flooded through the weapon to her heart, leaving her slightly dizzy.

"Her name is Kentsuki."

The young girl started. She had been so caught up in her examination of the sword that she had nearly forgotten all about Sesshoumaru-sama. The Lord of the Western Lands stood tall and imposing beside her. She couldn't help but notice how his fair hair became almost silver in the moonlight.

Kentsuki. _Moonblade_. The moon, like the one on the taiyoukai forehead. The moon, which he revered.

"She is yours."

"Mine?" questioned Rin, her voice shaking slightly. The emotion was beginning to take its toll. She was exhausted and at the same time too excited and mesmerized by what she held in her hands to be sleepy. "Really mine?"

"Yours," replied Sesshoumaru quietly, "as Tenseiga is mine."

Rin sheathed reluctantly Kentsuki, stroking her finely crated saya with a loving touch. Already was she feeling acquainted with her.

Impassible, Sesshoumaru pursued: "One of my fang is sealed between the hilt and the blade. It will grant her the power to protect you, and allow me to know where you are."

The black-haired girl felt tears welling in her eyes. Gratitude, disbelief, embarrassment, a veritable maelstrom of emotions squeezed her heart. "Thank you, Sesshoumaru-sama," she managed to say, despite her painfully tight throat.

The youkai nodded, and prepared to leave the clearing. They still had road to do.

"Why?" Rin's voice echoed in the calm, humid summer night. Sesshoumaru stopped dead in his tracks. Could he tell her? Did he have the right to burden her with such a knowledge? She was a mere child. No, never mere. Colorful, caring, brave. Wiser than her years, Rin was. Perhaps it was her nature, perhaps the result of the education he and Jaken had been providing her for over two years. Or simply because she had seen her entire kin slaughtered in front of her, at the tender age of eight. Who could tell? Anyway, he felt she could handle it. And she deserved to know. It was her life, and his responsibility. Hiding the truth any longer would be cowardice, and if there was a thing the taiyoukai _hated_, it was behaving like a miserable yellowbelly.

Sighing inwardly, he turned to her in a single fluid motion.

"Rin," he began, his voice at about the softest he could manage, "do you have the faintest idea why Naraku could have wanted to abduct you, two summers ago?"

The little girl shook her head mutely. Traveling with him had at least taught her not to speak in vain.

"He wanted to have a mean of pressure on me, should the need arise. Something - or _someone_ - to blackmail me with. And do you know why he choose you?"

Again, she stayed silent, unwilling to come to terms with the consequences of the only answer her logical mind could find.

"Because he knew I would rather pass up an opportunity to kill him than to let you die." Admitting it was harder than he had thought, his youkai pride ulcerated by the very idea. But, he knew, instinctively, that it would even worse not to say a thing. The child was so trusting, so open and naive. She needed to know what she was facing. "For over two years now, we have been tracking Naraku. Only fighting his minions, mind you, while he was comfortably hidden from us, and gaining in power. Soon he will think himself strong enough to eradicate us. And when that happens, Rin... You will probably find yourself in great danger, because of your link with me."

Rin swallowed with difficulty and blinked a few times, trying to hide her fear.

"But, Sesshoumaru-sama... you will protect Rin?" she said, her voice quivering as she unconsciously fell back in her former speech patterns. She suddenly felt very small, and very cold.

"Silly," answered the demon, not without warmth. "In the years you followed me, have you ever been hurt?"

Rin's smile returned gradually, and she let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding.

"As for Kentsuki, she will protect you when - _if_- I cannot."

Rin unsheated Kentsuki once again, pausing a few seconds to marvel at her beauty. She swung and twisted the sword clumsily, experimenting, until the blade fell onto the grass after a particularly ill-considered move. She picked it up quickly, feeling her smooth cheeks heat up in shame.

Sesshoumaru raised an eyebrow. "I see."

Japanese/English glossary

_Ken:_ sword  
_Tsuki:_ moon  
_Youkai:_ Demon  
_Taiyoukai:_ Demon-lord  
_Miko:_ priestress  
_Saya:_ scabbard

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	2. Two worlds

**Sword-Dancers**

**Author:** Carcinya (Isolde on **Author E-mail:**  
**Category:** Action/Adventure - Romance  
**Keywords:** Rin Sesshoumaru Inuyasha sword-dance curse  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Spoilers:** Up to episode 122 (Anime)  
**Summary:** Ten years after Naraku's defeat, Sesshoumaru and Rin wander the land, accompanied by the ever-present Jaken. As the Lord and the orphan, now sword-mates, struggle to decipher their feelings, a new threat  
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Rumiko Takahashi, various publishers including but not limited to Anime-Kraze, Sunrise and Shonen Sunday. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The whole sword-dancers concept is Jennifer Roberson's (May her quill never cease writing. Amen), though I modified it to suit my tastes - and the story's. _Two worlds_ is Phil Collins'. The plot and everything you don't recognize are mine.

**Author's notes:** I decided that in twelve years Sesshoumaru would likely find a way to have his left arm back. So sue me. ;o)

The reaction of Kenaku reflects only his opinion. Not mine.

Read and review, please!

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**Chapter 1: Two worlds**

Sword-dancer.

A word which has stirred the imagination of humans and youkais alike for centuries, promising incredible power, offering strange magic, whispering fascinating tales.

Many people dreamed of becoming a sword-dancer.

Probably because none of them knew what it meant.

Discipline. Discipline. Discipline.

And trust me, _I know_. I have had this word literally hammered in my head for over ten years by a particularly arrogant youkai. Who happened to be a thousand times better than I could ever hope to become. Now that was motivating.

The youkai in question was, at the moment, standing at the edge of the clearing, ignoring my very presence pointedly. Just because, after six hours of intensive training, I decided to call it a day. Hearing him, you'd think it was the end of the world...

Don't get me wrong. I like him. I really do. But after twelve years of shared life - so to speak - I feel I have the right to speak my mind. And I will, whenever I think it necessary. I _am not_ another Jaken, nor do I want to be.

Sesshoumaru-sama told me once I was the only being in existence who had challenged him - challenged him _continuously_. And yet lived to tell the tale. I admit it. As a teenager, I was difficult. Obnoxious, even, but in a charming, cute sort of way. Or not, according to Jaken. Sesshoumaru-sama bore my whims with admirable stoicism. Such a courageous demon, he is.

Normal, human teenage-hood is a difficult age for everyone. It's the time when you want to find your own place in the world, but you don't even know where to start. Or if you will have the strength. And so you're scared. And so you lash out at the nearest person you find.

Now imagine growing up alongside three youkais - including Aun - one of whom thinks he is better than anyone else in the world. (Which he is, all right, but that's not really the point. He doesn't have to be so bloody haughty about it.)

So. Finding your place in the world. Right. _Which_ world?

The human, or the youkai one?

None of them will ever accept you, because you don't _fit_. Not a youkai, in body. Not an human, in mind.

I remember one day, perhaps five, or six years ago. For some months, I had become increasingly interested in humankind. Jaken was always so quick to remind me I wasn't a demon, so I wanted - no, I _needed_ to know what I was, exactly. Then perhaps I could discover _who_ I desired to become.  
It was a radiant day of June, very hot and sticky, and thus I decided to cool down a little. I waited till we passed by a river, and then I told Jaken I would catch up with them later. On the riverbank stood an old woman, wearing red threadbare robes. She was washing some clothes. Somewhat awkwardly - I hadn't spoken to another human for years - I greeted her. As she lifted her wrinkled head, her gaze meet mine. She assessed me quickly.

"_Youkai_," she spat, pointing an accusative finger to Kentsuki, which I wore in a leather harness across my back.

The contempt and fear in her voice was heartbreaking. She picked up her belongings and left hurriedly, without so much as a backward glance.

I didn't even bother to run after her. On the sand shore of an unknown river, I cried until my eyes hurt. But that didn't appease my rage and my grief. I hated the world. And I hated myself even more.

When I was done crying, I numbly became aware that someone was watching me. I turned around swiftly, my hand on Kentsuki's hilt. Jaken stood a few paces behind me, looking faintly ill. Sesshoumaru-sama had probably sent him to watch over me, even though he _knew_ it pissed me no end. In my youthful arrogance I thought my - feeble - mastering of the dance made me untouchable. How childish I was then.

Obviously Jaken had witnessed the whole incident. Including my miserable display of self-pity.

I expected scorn, mockery of my weak human heart. I also knew this time, it would be too much to bear.

"No need to remind me how pathetic I am. Trust me, I know," I murmured quietly, drying my soaked face with the back of my hand.

Jaken swallowed audibly, then seemed to pull himself together. He fidgeted, hesitating, moved near me and patted my black hair rather embarrassedly.

"Pay no attention to that old hag. She's only a worthless human, after all," he declared after a moment, steering his paw away.

Renewed tears rolled down my cheeks, and I did nothing to stop them.

"And me, Jaken-sama? What about _me_?" I cried eventually, unable to contain my anguish anymore. "Am I worthless scum, too?"

The toad youkai opened his mouth, then closed it, realizing the impact of his words.

"You are Rin, apprentice sword-dancer," said a deep, smooth voice behind us, "and that is more than most could claim."

Startled, I leaped to my feet.

"Sesshoumaru-sama!" I stammered, before I looked down, mortified. In two graceful strides the taiyoukai was by my side, paying Jaken no mind. One of his clawed hand brushed softly the tears away, lifting my chin. Though his expression remained the same, the fierceness of his amber gaze surprised me.

"Never, ever, be ashamed of what you are."

"I won't."

Sesshoumaru-sama released me, and set off in the direction of Aun, not once looking back. Jaken hurried after him, while I simply relished in the wonderful normality of that scene. I couldn't help but smiling.

I understood, now.

The inu-youkai. The toad. Even the two-headed dragon.

My companions.

My strength.

My world.

It was a tranquil, cold morning of January. The sun had hardly risen, offering few warmth. Our paces echoed eerily in the silence, the fresh snow screeching under the sole of our boots.

"Rin-sama! Wait up, Rin-sama! Please!"

I froze in horror. "Kenaku," I let out with a painful sigh. That was my luck.

"Is it that region again?" said Jaken, exasperated. I couldn't say I blamed him.

Kenaku was a young farmer of a nearby village who fancied himself desperately in love with me. I had saved his life three years ago, and thus he decided, despite my repeated denials, that he was to marry me. Which implied kissing me passionately. Sesshoumaru-sama was not amused.

Kenaku was maybe a fool, but not yet suicidal. He sagely settled for a distant - but fervent - adoration. Did I mention he was a stubborn one? Not the brightest tool in the box, either.

Which meant every time we traveled in the proximity of his village, Kenaku appeared. Perhaps he did have a sixth sense. Or else he spent his whole life being on the lookout for me. I didn't know which prospect was the creepiest.

I would rather face any sword-dance than another encounter with me. Yet it seemed there was no helping it. He was running our way.

What would it be this time? Offertories? Human sacrifices? Self-immolation? Now _that_ would be a nice way to start the year.

No.

Worse.

Proposal.

And so here I was, standing in the snow, facing Kenaku's eager, open face. Wondering how the hell I would back out from this one without hurting the poor boy too much.

"Rin-sama, let's go. Everything is ready, everyone is waiting!" He appeared extraordinarily happy. I certainly wasn't.

"Kenaku-kun... Err..." Now to find a good excuse...

"All the villages in the region know about it. The feast will be such a great event!"

"What?"

No more time for subtleties.

"I can't marry you, Kenaku. I like girls. I'm sorry." If that didn't calm him, I guessed I would have to run.

That seemed to shut him up for a moment. He thought about it - a very intense and unusual activity, which I took great care of not interrupting - then his grin slowly disappeared.

"So... you're a freak, then?" he asked hesitantly.

I was. But not for the reason he thought.

"Yes," I replied quietly, and a small smile escaped my chapped lips, "and damn proud of it, too."

All his earlier enthusiasm seemed to have plainly disappeared. He stared at me, and for the first time, I saw disgust written in his hazel eyes. I had waited for that moment for years. And yet... it smarted. Rejection was never easy to accept, even coming from someone you weren't fond of. I pushed back the emotion quickly.

After a few minutes of intent scrutiny, he turned away without a word.

I sighed, watching his retreating form grow smaller in the distance. Then we set out again on the road. I walked between Aun and Sesshoumaru-sama, struggling to keep up with the taiyoukai's greater speed. Jaken had climbed on the two-headed dragon sometime before Kenaku's departure, and was now snoring loudly. Youkais don't need to sleep, strictly speaking, but the toad was never against a little snooze once in a while.  
And I was the weak one out there. Go figure.

"_Girls_?"

I shrugged inelegantly.

"I thought it would do the trick. Well," I added, more brightly than I felt, "at least he did not try to kiss me, this time."

Sesshoumaru-sama's jaw clenched tightly, but the demon said nothing.

"What would you have done if he did?" I asked, more out of boredom than sheer curiosity, as we set off along the snowy path. I highly doubted he would dignify me with an answer, anyway.

Imagine my astonishment when he did.

Leaving out no details. No matter how morbid they were.

Silently thanking my strong stomach - and my experience as a sword-dancer - I raised an eyebrow. "Is that even physically possible?"

"Impossible does not exist in my vocabulary," Sesshoumaru-sama remarked smoothly, without so much as a glance at me.

"I guess being your impossible self is enough for anyone in a lifetime."

"If it was enough, you'd not be traveling with me."

"Point taken."

We walked in companionable silence, wrapped in our own thoughts. I didn't ask what it was that preoccupied him. After twelve years by his side, I knew better.

The sun caught in his white hair, making it shine like thousands sparks of dazzling light. _Dazzling_. Just like he was.

"I was serious, you know," I said after a moment, still gazing pensively at his fair, gleaming mane.

"What make you think I wasn't ?" he replied pointedly, his voice at its silkiest.

_Youkais_.

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_Youkai_: demon  
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**Please review! You know you want to. **

**:o)  
**


	3. Crying in the rain

**Sword-Dancers**

**Author:** Carcinya (Isolde on **Author E-mail:**  
**Category:** Action/Adventure - Romance  
**Keywords:** Rin Sesshoumaru Inuyasha sword-dance curse  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Spoilers:** Up to episode 123 (Anime)  
**Summary:** Ten years after Naraku's defeat, Sesshoumaru and Rin wander the land, accompanied by the ever-present Jaken. As the Lord and the orphan, now sword-mates, struggle to decipher their feelings, a new threat, however, looms over the Sengoku Era - which of course Inu Yasha and his friends feel compelled to track and fight. All this doesn't really concern much the duo, until a fateful battle... Caught in the cross fire, Sesshoumaru receives accidentally the curse intended for his brother - and is changed in human.

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Rumiko Takahashi, various publishers including but not limited to Anime-Kraze, Sunrise and Shonen Sunday. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The whole sword-dancers concept is Jennifer Roberson's (May her quill never cease writing. Amen), though I modified it to suit my tastes - and the story's. The plot and everything you don't recognize are mine.

**Author's notes:** I decided that in twelve years Sesshoumaru would likely find a way to have his left arm back. So sue me. ;o)

The chapters are short. That's the way I write.

Sorry for the delay! Am working on my competitive examination (which will take place in May, but then maybe I'm work obsessed.)!

I apologize in advance for any spelling, syntax or grammar errors you might find in this story. I'm just a French girl trying to write in English. Bwah.

Good reading anyway, and please review!

* * *

**Chapter 2: Crying in the rain**

Silver locked against steel, blades clashing against each other in an untiring contest of strenght and will. My bare feet moved carefully on the grass, redistributing my weight so as not to get out of balance too easily. Sesshoumaru-sama was nearly unbeatable - which had the knack of getting on my nerves - and I wasn't about to give him another advantage.

Purposely, I weakened my guard, accentuating the tremors of my arms. I really was wearing down, and I knew I wouldn't last much longer. But if I could lead my opponent into assuming I was more tired than I felt, I could drive him to use risked steps he would not have attempted otherwise.

I played a dangerous game. If I miscalculated my moves, I would be out of the circle in less time than it takes to say "Jaken".

Not for the first time, I wished I could dry my dampened forehead, and push away the straggling wisps of black hair obscuring my vision. Like Sesshoumaru-sama, I only wore the ritual dress of the sword-dance - a plain, sleeveless suede tunic, cut at mid-tights, loose on the chest, tightened at the waist by a leather lace - and yet I was dripping wet, beads of sweat rolling down my body. The day was hot and heavy and sticky. Glancing at the sky, I glimpsed darks clouds gathering eastwards- which meant we could hope for some calm, fresh shade after the practice.

When I say "we", I mean _me_, of course. And Jaken. For, not matter how cruel the sun, not matter how excruciatingly long the practice, Sesshoumaru-sama never broke a sweat. _Ever_.

Bloody unfair, if you ask me. Not only is he gorgeous most of the time, but I have yet to see him looking less than handsome. Or at the very least adorable. I admit it, the latter is an_ extremely_ rare occurrence. But still.

Changing stance once again, I faked exhaustion and dropped on my right knee, breaking the contact between our swords. I crouched, simulating lightheadedness. I smirked. He wouldn't know what would hit him.

I pounced on him brusquely, very much intending to knock him off his feet, for a change.

Sweet, sweet revenge, at least you're coming to me!

Sesshoumaru-sama sidestepped neatly.

Or not.

Carried along by my own momentum, I couldn't stop in time, and - _of course_ - landed rather inelegantly on the ground. Out of the circle.

The fight was finished, Sesshoumaru-sama had won and I had made a complete fool of myself. _Again_.

I sighed, hiding my face in the grass. And here I was thinking I could deceive him. He had probably seen right through my act from the start... How very humiliating.

Now, don't get me wrong. I am not bad. Well, not _that_ bad, anyway.

Ninth-level is a more than honorable rank for a sword-dancer - at least for an human one. There are fifteenth levels in total: each marks a limit in the skill of the dancer, taking into consideration techniques as much as power. From the first level to the sixth, you are an apprentice; at seventh-level, you earn the title of sword-dancer; at tenth-level, you can become a kaidin, an human teacher; and at fifteenth, the highest level, you are _shodo_, a sword-master. No need to say that only tai-youkais ever become _shodos_, for obvious physical reasons: they possess strenght, speed and willpower unmatched by any man - or woman. Humans rarely even reach tenth-level.

Sesshoumaru-sama was a sword-master. My _shodo_. He was the one who crafted my katana, Kentsuki.

For the magic of the sword-dance resides as much in the art of the dancer as in his blade.

_Jivatma_.

If a kaidin or a shodo decides to take an apprentice, he won't search one. The student will come to him, one way or another, sooner of later.  
The teacher, provided he accepts him, will then craft him - or her, though that's not a frequent occurrence - a sword, in which he will have put a part of himself - a strand of hair, a tooth, a claw...

And the sword then comes alive.

Sword of the Soul. Sentient weapon. Blooding-blade.

There are many words to describe what cannot be explained.

But only one echoes in the heart of every sword-dancer.

_Jivatma_.

The link between the dancer and the blade runs deep and strong, going well beyond the comprehension of profanes. Which is why the students are given their sword so soon in their apprenticeship, the younger the better: a bond of this kind, so intimate and powerful, would be in most case thoroughly rejected by an adult mind.

Trust Sesshoumaru-sama to be the exception.

When the Lord of the Western Lands decided to take his eldest son as an apprentice, he refused him the sword he rightfully deserved. And so Sesshoumaru-sama was already a sword-master when he finally received his true _jivatma,_ Tenseiga - which is a wonder in itself, since it can only heal and never hurt - from his father's hands.

But the damage was already done, both in his mind and his heart.

I don't think anyone could understand what a genuine sword-dancer, born and living to the sword, would be without his _jivatma_.

A naked blade with nothing to stabilize its course.

The fear, the anger, the hate.

The_ emptiness_.

I did not experience it directly - and gods forbid I ever do. I merely saw an echo of it in Sesshoumaru-sama's eyes as he watched the broken Tenseiga on the ground, that fateful day of December when we eventually defeated Naraku. Sesshoumaru had shielded his younger brother with it as the monstrous youkai landed his final, most terrible blow.

The blade shattered. Inuyasha survived.

After the battle, a severely wounded Sesshoumaru-sama went to retrieve Tenseiga. He said nothing, just picked up the sword with wordless reverence, his face very pale under the blood. But what I will never forget were his eyes, his beautiful golden eyes lacking their usual spark.

_Empty_.

Inuyasha and the others watched mutely, not quite understanding, but rather dismayed nonetheless. Jaken was crying silently, just as I was, for we appreciated the full-extent of our master's action.

Killing him would have been less cruel a fate than breaking his _jivatma_. By saving his brother's life, he had thrown his away.

At ten, with Kentsuki in hand, I was invincible. I could not -_ would not_ - let my _shodo_ whither away and die. He had saved me; I would save him.

How deliciously naive children can be.

And so I set off discreetly during the night, two sayascrossed on my backHow I _did_ succeed to find Toutousai-sensei without being eaten by stray youkais is still beyond me. The fact remains that I convinced him to repair Tenseiga - a long, strenuous process which lasted over a month. It took me a further week after that to go back and it was well after sunset when I finally reached the gates of Kaede's village. A tall, imposing figure stood alone in the moonlight, blocking the way.

Sesshoumaru-sama.

A brief wave of childish fear at the idea of his wrath washed over me, and I stopped dead in my tracks. Tenseiga pulsed in my hand, like a reassuring caress and suddenly my worries disappeared. I knelt before my master in silent reverence. What would become of me was absolutely insignificant compared to the treasure I held against me.

He didn't so much as spare a glance at Tenseiga. He fell to his knees alongside me on the murky path.

And slapped me. Hard. It was the first time he had ever struck me.

I looked up in shock, only to be find myself crushed against his chest in a tight embrace.

I had expected anger, I had expected fury, I had expected anything ... Anything but _that_.

He was trembling.

"Foolish girl," he muttered against my messy, dirty hair. "Foolish girl..."

That day, I understood that my powerful, arrogant _shodo_ wasn't the almighty god I had believed him to be.

And, strange as it may seem, loved him even more for that.

"Do you plan on turning into a mole, Rin?" asked said youkai ironically. I snapped back to the present, noticing in horrified embarrassment that I was still sprawled ungracefully on the ground. My whole body hurt from my particularly undignified fall. I groaned.

"That wouldn't need much effort," squeaked Jaken, looking pointedly at me, yet not offering me any help.

Talk about adding insult to injury.

I scowled, and was about to snap back sharply when the storm choose this precise moment to blow over. In a matter of seconds I was drenched to the bones.

I got up wearily - by myself, thankyouverymuch - and faced my tormentors. Sesshoumaru-sama was leaning - in his usual, charmingly arrogant way - against a large, ancient oak. By his side sat Jaken, polishing the Staff of Head with a smug grin. Both were conveniently sheltered from the rain.

Suddenly I didn't feel like fighting anymore - both literally and figuratively. The somewhat unsettling memories - yet another painful reminder of my ambiguous relationship with my _shodo_ - had considerably sobered my mood. I was tired, so _tired_ of this pretense.

I held Sesshoumaru-sama's cold gaze pensively. My strong, aloof youkai, who would rather die than admit that he _needed_ me, a weak human, as much as I needed him. Over the years, I had come to accept it, more out of habit than anything else. And so I managed to grin and bear it most of the time. But there were also times like this, when I just wanted to walk away and leave him with his damned pride. Today was no exception.

I picked up Kentsuki and turned away.

Wishing the rain could remove the doubts just like it washed away my bitter tears.

Knowing it couldn't.

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**Well? What did you think? **

**Anyway, please review! (I'm such a feedback whore.)**

**:o)  
**


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